


What Lies Gone and Golden

by ew_socialinteractions



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Babs is an independent woman, Dami is a bby, F/F, F/M, I thrive off of angst I’m sorry, M/M, Multi, Tim is precious and deserves to be protected, and probably loves women lol I haven’t exactly figured it out yet but I really want it to happen, prepare yourself for angst please, tim n jay are super closeee, who will not hesitate bitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:55:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26003785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ew_socialinteractions/pseuds/ew_socialinteractions
Summary: Metal and tea, spilling silk, gold folded over skin.Bumping hips, gripped hands, grit teeth and bit lips.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	1. The Beginning (i)

Timothy Drake has always stood on shifting ground. 

For the first time in his life this was applyed literally, and he loathed it.

Stained wooden planks rolled underneath unsteady feet, and he pressed his forehead harder against the damp railing. Heat bubbled in his stomach and rose in his cheeks despite the crisp air that stung his throat and opened his lungs. Numb fingers hung feet over open water, loosley laced together and swaying with the whole of the ship. 

A large hand gripped his shoulder, the pressure cutting through the grey tweed of his ratty coat. 

He was bambarded by a sky that cut into his skull, bright and grey and making his life that much harder. It took him a moment to gather himself, and a course chuckle sounded behind him. A thumb pressed circles into his neck, and he was handed cup of something that burned his palms. 

He turned and was met with another reason to jump ship. Literally. 

Beyond his brother he was surrounded by a sea of cloaked figures. Dull blues and reds massed together, shifting together with greasy hair and sun-stained skin. He felt swollowed, face to face with shoulder blades and chests and swathes of fabric that seem to press him in. 

A rough thumb found his chin, and he was facing the sky. 

"Less eyes-" a knuckle knocked on his temple- "more mouth. Eat the - fuck, I don't know what it is, don't look at me like that - whatever they had in the big metal thing to keep people from dying." A raised eyebrow, flourished hand. "Exhibit A."

Tim huffed, rolling his eyes. 

This tended to happen often with Jason Todd.

A broad jaw, speckled skin, and bright green eyes adorned his personal pain in the ass. 

A sip of the unknown substance proved mostly tasetless, but Tim assumed that that was more due to the scalding of his tongue (and roof of mouth, and back of throat) and less to actual contents. 

They huddled together, Jay's hand still on his shoulder and his eyes boring into the sea. The wind changed directions, and his curls danced. Tim's tried to suffocate him before he gets the chance to do it himself. The boat creaked, the waves broke agasint it. The younger retreated back to the rail. He was doing great, really. Taking this in stride like a champ. 

Little footsteps thud agaisnt wood. Voices weave together. Sails whip, the fabric billowing and full. Crew members cut through the masses, moving with a sense of expediancy that set them apart. That and the fact that they appear marginally less perterbed by current circumstances when compared to the otherwise pensive, fidgety, or physically ill collection of individuals. It was a knot of dulled activity within a vast expanse of nothing. 

He moved to the ground, squeezed between bodies. Jay stayed standing, observing. Tim's knee knocks against his leg.

He ran his fingers along the planks. He felt the grooves. He felt how it was smooth, almost soft, until he would get to an upturned spike and it would snag on his fingertip. He splayed his hands flat and closed his eyes. 

Nothing. Not a single thing.

When he walked from stone to wood, he hadn't grasped the prolongued extent to this...vacancy. The feeling that would come from reaching for the earth and realizing that it is no longer within proximity; no longer at his fimgertips. He has always had the ability to find a way to kneel in the dirt. He has not had a way to kneel in the dirt for four sunrises, and the empty is beginning to consume him. 

His fingers dig into his ankel - the gold beneath his palm is cold. 

•

He wakes vieled in darkness, a head resting on his thighs.

His hand was swollowed by thick black hair, course waves shifting with his fingers. A body was curled around him, knees tucked against where Tim's legs were folded. 

His chest tightened, and he leaned forword, resting his forhead againt the mass of hair.

His chest loosed, and a breath was expelled as he fell back into darkness.

A thin light pierced his consciousness, and his eyes fluttered open once more. 

The sky was softer, kinder. Still a grey, but it was the top of the morning, and it bathed the ship rather than assulting all within it. 

The space was quiet, rarely so. The air hung still, only a slight rocking of the ship adding any motion to the atmosphere. Lumps of flittering cloth and slumbering people buryed the planks, a lone figure picking their way across deck. 

Jason remained wrapped around his side, each breath puffing a strand of hair back and forth. Tim watched his chest rise and fall.

He blinked. 

A swaying curtain of legs framed his vision, bumping off of each other in time with the rocking of the hull. 

The planks beneath him jolted, and his spine bounces off of the wood behind him. 

Tim now has an idea of what woke him. 

. 

They disembarked into a city of color and smog. 

The gangway laid between the dock and the big floating death trap, and it creaks beneath Tim’s feet. His fingers do likewise from where they’re wrapped around Jason’s hand. He swears he can feel it shift, and the current of sweaty bodies and bo swathed in rough clothe does not move fast enough. Actually, they move exceptionally slow. Somewhere behind them, a baby wailed. 

They stepped onto a street of cobblestone and color. Oranges and reds and blues blurred around them, the rocking of wheels and clicks of heels and clatter of hooves. Lacey umbrellas bobbed above the crowd, along with scratched top hats and dyed feathers 

People parted around them like a stream does a stone. 

Though this was less a stream, and more the point of a river right before a waterfall, full of force and speed and that feeling you get when you know that you’re getting yourself into something that may hurt a bit. 

Jason takes a step, and Tim’s scuffed shoes glance across stone. 

They begin.

•

Jay muttered to himself, turning a corner into an alley whose walls seemed to be straining to meet above their heads. The current of city-dwellers has trickled off, and they were no longer surrounded on all sides. 

The material beneath his feet shifted, and he looked down to find that they had stepped onto cloth. Rugs ran the length of the corridor, pressed down by time and use. A single line of stalls ran along brick, and they passed wares of thread and beads and sequins. 

Tim’s elder brother halted at one towards the middle, it’s dark wood bending beneath clay. He watched as fingers, flecked with the ghosts of scars, brushed upon a leaning tower, a tree etched into it’s circular sides. 

“Timothy Drake?” 

Besides them stood a couple.

A woman leaned against the wall, muted red hair spilling out over a splatter of freckles. Tim felt a pang, and his eyes shifted. She wore a tailed jacket that swung beneath her knees and a waistcoat pulled tight beneath it. Beside her a man shifted easily on his feet, hands shoved into his tux pockets and orange sequins smeared beneath his eyes. His hair laid erect in glossy waves. 

Fingers curled into his shoulder, and he could fee his brother step beside him. He could imagine his face without glancing up. 

He knew what the man was going to say. If this was Dick Grayson, than he would know. 

He mumbled. Something in Tim’s chest unraveled. 

They followed the figures through alleys and walkways, and Tim was satisfied when he lost track of direction. 

The two brothers were led through a back door and up stained wood. He could hear life around him, banging and yelling and clattering. In one of the rooms around them, someone was singing roundly. A door slammed. 

They came to a stop on the fifth story. Barbara Gordon stopped at a beat up door, not unlike the rest. A metal 237 was stamped into the surface, and the door made a creaking sound reminiscent of a dying cat when she pushed it open. 

They stepped inside.

The first thing that he saw was green, a saturated color that mixed leaves with acid, and Tim stepped back and bumpt into the now-closed door behind him. The metal around his ankle burned. 

He blinked and struggled to swallow. 

Dick was looking back at him, his eyebrows furrowed. Barbara had already left the room. Jason stood ahead of him, shoulders tight. 

His brother was still. 

Tim took a deep breath. 

“We’re good,” he said, stepping forward. 

His hand found Jason’s, and he wrapped his fingers around his palm. It took the man a moment to reciprocate. 

“We’re good,” he said again, focusing on the face in front of him and trying to ignore the color that framed his vision. 

He tasted vomit. 

He forced a smile onto his face. 

“There’s another man living here?”

Dick nodded, his expression not yet smoothing. 

“It’s hard to find housing in the heart of the city-we do what we have to.” 

Tim nods and pulls Jason forward. He can feel the built tension next to him like an electric cloud. He moved towards a window, and after a glance back to the owner he pushed the thick panes outwards, opening like a door. A breeze cut through the room, and Tim looked out to see rough waves and rolling skies. He choked. 

He hadn’t realized they were next to the ocean. 

It built, and laughter spilled out of his chest like a metal bucket dumping rocks. His head fell back, black hair spilling out behind him. 

He felt the hand in his tighten. 

Eventually, his laughter peeled away. His chest was left aching. When he looked up at his brother, his eyes stung. 

Jason’s eyes were fixed on the sea.

He turned back, thankful that he hadn’t been stabbed in the back while he was loosing his mind. 

Tim couldn’t read the man’s expression. 

“So!” It burst from him, and he went with it, wincing to himself. “What now?”


	2. The First Look Back (i)

TW: Blood Below

Tim dreamt of marble and stone.

It was hot, and the atmosphere wrapped around him like a thick blanket. There was no moisture in the air. 

He stood in an open room. The slick surface beneath his feet was warm. 

Everything was warm. 

He was framed by white marble walls. A bright sheen painted his vision, following his eyes where they roamed with focusing. 

He took a step forward, and another. The sun greeted him. It was heavy on his skin. 

Gravel crunched beneath his feet. It burned.

Stones scratched beneath his toes. 

In front of him, a pool the color of arctic blue. 

Palm fronds skimmed it’s surface, though the water did not ripple.

Nothing did.

The only movement beside the boy himself was the heat waves shimmering across his vision. The sheen that surrounded him brightened, though his surrounding did not come fully into focus.

He did not squint at the light. 

Timothy Drake looked up. 

The sky was white. 

Timothy Drake looked down.

Grey. 

He turned.

Red. 

A deep crimson, creeping into black.

He blinked. 

Spotty footprint led towards where his feet lay. 

He followed them. 

He blinked.

White marble, bathed in red. 

All he could see was red.

—-

(Timothy Drake did not escape the red. 

He woke to red in his eyes, red in his nails, red slick between his fingers and red wet beneath his knees. 

It enveloped his world, burning beneath where his lashes fluttered. 

His fingers dug into his scull. He pulled at sweaty locks, but it didn’t go away, wouldn’t go away, and-

Pressure squeezed his shoulders. He hooked onto it, focusing on it from where he sat with his world tilting and his breath catching. 

He couldn’t take a breath in. 

It snagged, and he tried again, and he was dying, he was dead, and his blood rushed in his ears, and all around him was red, deep read, crimson red, and-

A gruff voice. It scraped, and it crackled, and it said,

“there’s a little table, rickety and looking like it’s about to fall over. There’s wood on the floor, and if you lean down, you can feel it, scratched and rough and neither cold nor warm. There’s a photograph, shades of black and grey, and there’s a man with a mustache, this big curly thing that you gotta kick out of. The corner of the photo is burned white, and you can see brick behind him, and a blur of person. I can make out a top hat.”

The voice paused, and he felt the pressure leave. He panicked for a moment, but rough fingers were on his face, and he was fine, it was fine. 

He realized he was breathing. 

“You with me, Timbo?” 

And he choked, and his hands moved from his hair to clamping across his mouth. 

Circles were being rubbed into his cheek bone. 

“Wanna move down to the floor?” was asked softly, and he nodded. The touch left his face, and an arm was hooked beneath his legs, another behind his back. 

He was on the floor, his palms pressed against wood. He found the divots, found the runs in the wood. It was worn. He found the break between planks. The edges were smooth. 

He felt a body settle next to him, and a shoulder press against his. 

Timothy Drake opened his eyes to dark wallpaper and fogged glass.

It was no longer marble and stone.)


	3. Dirt (i)

The sun rises yet again.

Tim’s eyes flutter open to light, caressing his cheeks and warming his face. 

It felt good. 

Thread lay bunches around him, smooth and thick and falling off of his shoulder. 

His hair felt heavy and greasy; his skin sticky. 

He blinked. 

Yawned. 

Next to him, his brother lay sprawled, one arm propped on the couch behind Tim. His head lolled on the cushion, mouth open. 

He carefully pulled the blanket off of him and settled it on Jay. The boy did not stir. 

He shifted to his feet, knees cracking as he stood. 

Oh, how he hated this wallpaper. 

The morning was cool. The ground beneath his feet was chilled, and he shivered. The bare skin on his arms prickled. He glanced down at his brother and the blanket. A small generosity to attribute to an enormous blessing. 

He rubbed his face and glanced around. 

The room was empty, the little ancient kitchenette behind the couch dark. It was quiet, just the beginnings of movement creeping in from the walls. 

This was a first since he had arrived the day before. 

He walked towards the one hallway in the space, his feet moving without making a sound. 

He came to the bathroom, and a clean towel lay folded on the cracked porcelain of a claw foot tub. 

He fumbled around in the dark, and with a fwp, a match lit and a candle was kindled.

He needed to be clean. 

And then he needed to finally go kneel in the fucking dirt. 

•

Timothy Drake opened the door, steam curling into the crackled hallway.

His hair stuck to his face, a film of perspiration still blanketing his skin. A water droplet rolled down his cheek and hit the floor.

He was dressed in the same clothing that pre-scrubbing Tim had worn, and it felt uncomfortable against his figure. He was still barefoot.

He paused, the steam still furling around him. 

An elder version of his best friend stared back at him. 

•

Wally West was tall and gangly, all bones and protruding angles. Unlike the other redhead Tim has encountered recently, his hair was bright and full, and unlike her light blue eyes, his were brown and framed by thick lashes.

The man in front of him was cranking dials on an old stove, though the appliance was fighting back violently. Finally, it gave a dry coughing sound, and a flame lit beneath the burner. 

The boy sprung up, and Tim watched the pan in his loose grip as he waved his hand in the air, exclaiming that he was ready for omletsss. 

He did not want to be accosted by flying metalware, and at this point, it looked likely.

45 minutes later and he was setting a folded egg by his brother, who had still yet to stir. He settled down next to him on the creaking floor, another plate in his hands. The air smelled of cheese and peppers. 

Wally stood leaning against the counter, a leanly muscled arm hanging over one shoulder and a floof of black hair resting on his other. 

Dick Grayson had arisen half way into his fiancé’s fiasco in omelet making. Tim was informed that Barbara had already departed the building while he was making himself not filthy. 

He was also informed that he would need the food for the trip to the edge of the city, and something in him screamed.

•

They came to a field of cracked mud, and Tim toed his shoes off with a strangled laugh. He walked across the spiderwebbed dirt, and looked back at his brother. Jason stood leaning against brick, arms crossed. He cocked a brow, and Tim saw that he was fighting a smile. The younger threw his head back and laughed again. Fucking finally. 

Jason should have been proud of him for not loosing his clothes and laying on cobblestone thusfar, trampling be damned. 

This part of himself that was empty is now full, and he’s fucking thriving.

He turned his foot on it’s ball, kicking up a swish of dust. 

He opened up the tap, through the funnel that was filling his body with potent energy (though energy may not specifically be the word to describe what exactly the people were able to take front he earth). Those from where he and Jay came from called it vitality.

Threads of teal wove around his arms, glassy and transparent and blobular. They twined between his fingers and into his head of hair, which had started to curl from the humidity by the ocean. He tilted his head back, lashes fluttering closed, soaking up the sun on his face and the vitality in his chest.

Fuck, it felt good. 

He heard a choked cough and opened his eyes, fighting back a smile until he realized he was already grinning. 

Wally looked like he wasn’t getting enough air, and Dick blinked at him, his hands loose at his sides. 

Tim knew what he looked like.

Everyone had a different forte concerning how they interacted with the vitality beneath them. It usually manifested itself in time, and they developed their individual ways to channel it. 

Tim’s peculiarity was that he had a huge fucking funnel. 

Opening himself to the earth was like cranking a hose, though through Tim himself, he took what could have been violent and eruptive and made it cool and steady and drawn. 

It was usually there, filling him, so it made sense that he hurt having been cut off.

Barbara cleared her throat, pushing hair out of her face. 

He knew how he looked. When he tapped into the vitality that flowed through his funnel and filled his body, his lashes and black lockes became streaked with glowing teal. It ringed his irises, which were shaded beneath hair that floated around him as if underwater (though he owed that all to the threades that were making their way through them). It wasn’t the most dramatic reaction to vitality that he’s seen (he once knew a woman who glowed red), but he knew the image he cut considering the...information that those ahead of him held. 

“People here usually don’t quite come to depend on the energy. This may be an adjustment.”

The gold around his ankle felt tight.

His eyes burned.

In three strides arms were around him, his face smushed against a broad chest. 

Fingers settled themselves into the back of his hair, the palm on his neck large enough to span its width. 

His breath caught, and teal coiled around his brother, hugging their figures. 

“It’ll be okay, kid. We’ll be okay.”

He shook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SavE BanDiT


	4. The Second Look Back (i)

Tim dreamt of mud and freckles. 

Knobby fingers twined through his. 

Dust, clouding around him. It’s in his lungs, but his body shakes from laughter. 

A sky, blue bordering on pale yellow. 

He feels hard earth beneath his shoulder blades, solid beneath his head. 

A leg hooks over his. 

Tim shifts, his shoulder not finding any give in the dirt and his hip sharp against it. 

In front of him is a beautiful boy.

Dust enveloped shocking red hair and chocolate colored eyes, firmly fixed on him. 

Tim watches as his own hand raises and brushes against long brown eyelashes, presses against the sunspots that completely cover pale skin, traces the locks that fall onto dirt and mix with the dust. 

He rests his hand against the boy’s cheek.

Completely beautiful. 

The face draws closer, and Tim’s eyes flutter as rough lips are pressed against his.

The boy smiles against him, and Tim thinks that this is the best thing in the world. 

A hand grips his shoulder, and he’s rolled onto his back, a bony body hanging above him. 

He is backlight by the sun, and the world glows around him. 

The face leans down, and Tim props an elbow to meet him halfway. 

Their hands are still twined, and Tim squeezes. 

The sun is hot, and so are they. The two boys shape against each other and do not let go.

Tim laughs against him, and the boy catches his lip in his teeth. 

Hands brush his ribs, and he jerks, (because he’s ticklish), and a knee goes into the body above him. 

A cackle, and they’re rolling, dirt flying and legs locked together. 

Tim ends on top, his chest heaving. The breath from the boy below him is warm. 

Lips pressed to freckles, and he collapsed beside him, dust billowing. 

Their hands found each other once again. 

Fingers twine.

Tim rolls his head, and the boy beside him lay sprawled. Freckles work their way down his ribcage. Tim thinks he left his shirt somewhere to the side, and he sees a flash of palms pressed against bare skin. 

A grin is cut across the face next to his, and Tim has a feeling that the same could be said concerning himself. 

Bart Allen has that effect on him.

—-

(Timothy Drake did not escape Bart Allen.

Not that he wanted to. 

He lay staring at the ceiling, eyes falling closed and opening in increments that could not quite be considered blinking. 

A water stain that vaguely resembles a wolf lay slightly above his head. 

His hand was empty. 

It was no longer mud and freckles.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ThiS is noT a piCnic phYlLis iTs a GarDeN parTy


	5. Ruh Roh Shaggy Meets Houston, We Have a Problem (i)

The first (rather notable) sign of trouble came almost a week later. 

Tim was holding a bowl of chipped porcelain, the oatmeal within warming his palms. He sat half against the open window, a leg hanging and foot thumping against the wall in a steady rythem. A finger thrummed against the edge of the dish. 

The air was wet, and it clung to his skin. A breeze brushed his skin, and he smelled salt. 

His eyes were on the street below, a stream of muted colors. 

His eyes caught on black, and his finger stilled. 

A streak of dark brown hair, glossy and straight and somehow not fizzing in the atmosphere. 

People moved around her-she somehow seemed to cut the crowd.

A swath of dark fabric hugged her body, and Tim squinted. He felt his view lacking, the building seeming to hang over the people.

A hand reached up to adjust cloth. 

Tim almost dropped his oatmeal.

Gold rings glinted against dark skin.

Tim tracked her to the edge of his vision, and then slowly stepped down and closed the foggy glass panes. 

His movement were taught, his muscles tense and coiling. He walked, and it took a considerable effort not to loose his shit. 

The bowl clanged against the counter, and he ran. 

•

Tim would probably describe what he did next as prowl. 

Anger burned through him, though it teeters dangerously into fear. It was sharp and acidic, and he was trying to swallow it down before it spread. 

They mixed and bled and created a really ugly feeling. 

He had yet to find the woman. 

It’s easy to disappear in a city, so it may be a pointless endeavor on his part. There was a chance though. She used to be an ocean away. He had just layed eyes on her. If she was trying to find him, he might as well make that easier for the both of them. 

This didn’t mean he hasn’t found any others. 

He turned a corner, and a hand grabbed his wrist and twisted. He turned with it, and ducked the dagger that flashed above his head. 

He wasn’t really in the mood. 

He stomped, and a body swathed in black slammed into brick beside him. A punch to the temple, and he was out, the hand hanging out of Tim’s grip now limp and very unsuccessful.

He strode last the crumpled body without a curserary glance. 

He took another corner, and was passing by a noddles stand when fingers gripped his bicep. 

“Wai-“

His heel shifted, and the grip was released with a clatter and oof from behind him. 

“I told you not to-“ came a dry voice, and Tim’s emotions clashed like steel on steel. 

“Tim,” came the voice, and it was concern bordering on exasperation bordering on anger, and the child in question pushed down the urge to turn around and throw himself at his brother and took a step in the opposite direction. 

Before he could take another, his foot became rooted to cobblestone.

He knew without looking down what it was, and how to take care of it. 

Again, he wasn’t really in the mood. 

He pushed, and he could feel the energy surge beneath his feet. 

Chaos broke out around him. 

The cuff at his feet flickered, and he turned. 

Confusion was now added to the mix, where anger was greatly winning. 

“-the hell? Tim, what the fuck?” 

“We have larger issues right now,” he ground out, because he really didn’t want to talk about it, and if they could just let him go, then there wouldn’t be an issue. 

He curled his toes, and a table somewhere behind them went flying. 

Jason took a step forward, and Tim could see a muscle in his jaw working. 

“Look, we knew it was coming. There’s no reason to go off the deep end, kid. You’re going to end up-“ 

Another table flew, and one of the bodies behind his brother squawked as a wooden slab landed where their feet had been.

Jason’s vitality had the color of rust. It furled out from beneath his feet like the boy was some type of sea witch, rising around him like curls of fog. 

Behind him, Wally made a crack about him needing a ghost ship from where he stood eyeing the piece of wood.

In different circumstances, Tim would agree. He looked pretty badass. 

Now he was just pissed off. 

Whisps of it licked at the air around him, like a flame eating at oxygen. Pieces of ember burned against the green of his irises, and the effect was striking. 

“Are you trying to get us to move to the next city over? I don’t know what you’re planning on doing, but I don’t think it’s working like you think it is. This is not a smart move, Timberlina.”

Tim ground his teeth. 

“Look, I’m just as fucked up as you are. You know that. We-“ His breath caught, and he swallowed. Tim curled his fingers.

“But there was literally a trail of bodies that we followed here. I mean, kudos to you for not ending any of em permanently, but kid, think for a sec. We came here for a reason.”

He took a step forward, and the curling smoke followed him. 

“A rather large reason. Let’s go back to the safe space, okay? Before you end up actually maiming either yourself or others? If they came here, they’ll still be here while we work out what to do. We have time, ok?”

Another step forward. 

“Let’s not rush into things.”

Tim’s eyes burned, and he wasn’t sure if he was about to scream or collapse the whole damn building next to them. He needed to do something, and Jason was looking so frustratingly calm in front of him, and he didn’t know why-

Jason didn’t know why.

“Jay,” he said softly, and his voice cracked right down the middle. His brother took another step forward, and Tim was enveloped by rust, and looking up at his brother who was right here, he was right here, and he suddenly felt helpless and empty like his chest had dropped out of his body and someone had gone and carved out his insides with a spoon. 

“She’s here. Talia al Ghul is here.”


	6. The Third Look Back (i)

Tim dreamt of metal and tea.

Marble lay cold beneath bare skin. 

Silk spilled from bony shoulders, puddling next to splayed hands and falling over thighs. His complexion seemed tan against the stark surface, the line between marble and skin sharp. Scars crisscrossed flesh, pale and sharp and varying in age. The oldest were faded with time. 

Gold glinted, folded against skin. 

Beside him, bodies spun, metal whipping through the air. Silk billowed from their figures, trailing through the air as they wove around each other. They moved like liquid, never pausing. What was once angles are now curves. 

Tim watched as feet pressed against marble. For all the movement happening above, they looked to be on an opposite plane, shifting on balls and heels and seeming to skim across the floor lightly as they circled each other.

Silver slipped through the breezeless open. He watched a blade arc, the ribbon attached to the hilt bending as the metal reached its peak. He followed the ribbon to where it was wrapped tightly around a wrist. It continued, slack between limbs and giving it’s user room to move. The ribbon wrapped around the opposite wrist, and hung from where a second blade lay lightly held within a palm. 

The other sparee wielded a single knife, approximately one foot in length. It was a gnarly looking thing, the metal continuing up the hilt and wrapping over where knuckles gripped. 

It flashed forward, and ribbon pulled taut. The thread did not break (Tim has never seen it give way), and the knife-wielder did not waver (Tim has never seen them give way either). A fist wrapped in tightly spun cotton goes for the gut, and the ribbon-user sidesteps from where his arms were spread, muscles straining. Both blades are released, and they sway at his side before he jerks a wrist and one flits forward. 

Tim yawned and tilted his head back, letting his eyes fall closed. He took a deep breath; citrus surrounded them. He liked the smell of lime. He let the light sun touching his face and the sound of clashing metal swallow him and hummed.

A foot nudged his thigh, and Tim blinked at black hair framed by light before he was levered to his feet. “My turn?” He asked as a body brushed against him. He turns back, and can feel a grin pull at his face. 

He reached up and slipped a silver cylinder from cloth wrapped around his bicep. It fit in his palm, and measured about half the size of his finger. It was warm from remaining pressed against skin. Tim pressed on a knob and released it before his fingers wrapped around a full bo staff. 

He ran his thumb over it, and it felt as if he had untucked a limb. He hummed. They had it imported from across the ocean, and he’d never seen anything like it before. It’s usually on him, wrapped onto his arm, but he still uses his wooden one, warn soft underneath the press of fingertips. 

He spins it in his hand as he takes a step towards silver knuckles.

—-

They lay together on the floor, all pools of light and sweat and silk. 

Beneath his head, a hand curled into his hair, slender fingers resting on his scalp. 

A glass chilled his palm, tea dark and cool and filled with ice. Its bitter taste lay on his tongue.

Pages ruffled, and he knew that beside him a page was being flipped. Fingers flecked with scars would be ghosting over aged paper, yellow and brittle. 

He hummed.

—-

A blink, and unfamiliar footsteps moved through the room.

—-

A blink, and his skull met stone.

—-

A blink, and the pages stopped turning.

—-

(A blink, and a jolt. 

Shadows blanketed green wallpaper and cracked ceilings. All was dark and quiet. 

He breathed in, and his chest stuttered violently.

It was no longer metal and tea.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos n credit to VE Schwab (a brilliant author shejns) for the super badass weapons!!
> 
> Who is this mysterious person I’ve been dancing around oooOooO


	7. R to R (ii)

It is the year of The Rotation.

The glass doors swooshed open, and Timothy Drake’s shoes echoed on marble. 

The hall was glass around him, flashes of gold and silver and faces he knew filling his vision. 

The large hand resting on his shoulder squeezed it slightly, and he was spurred into motion, taking another step, and then another, cutting through the room with all of the strength and elegance of those before him. 

Both of his sides were lined with the world’s greatest badasses, all turned and facing him. Wally winked at him, Diana grinned. He was honored to be joining them. 

Tim came to a stop in front of a man.

Bruce Wayne.

The Head of the Bat Line, and the one responsible for Tim’s presence here in this room full of amazing people. 

Bruce was clad in white, as were they all and as was accustomed. The golden cuff he bore wrapped around his bicep reflected the light, and he reached out and gripped Tim’s other shoulder. Even at 16, Tim was still way smaller than The Bat, and had to tilt his head to meet the man’s eyes. 

His black hair was speckled with grey, and his eyes crinkled as he smiled down. 

Another man stepped out from beside Bruce, and Tim only had a moment to brace himself before he was being crushed into someone’s chest. 

Dick.

He huffed out a laugh 

“So proud,” was whispered into his hair, and Tim tightens his arms. 

The man’s wavy hair dipped in grooves, and his sun-kissed skin glowed like honey against the gold circling his arm. Dick gave him a small smile, just the tilts of his lips, but it absolutely radiated. His hands were gripping Tim’s biceps lightly, rubbing circles in his skin, and the younger boy felt basked in warmth in the moment. 

A hand gripped his wrist, and he was pulled from one embrace to another. 

It was gentle, and he felt a hand stroking his back. He smiled into a shoulder. 

Cassandra Cain.

He loved Cass. She was so soft for such a powerful woman, and as they parted she cupped a hand under his face. Tapped his chest, and then put a hand on hers. Her eyes flicked over his shoulder, and then came back to his face. She raised an eyebrow. 

The breath stilled in his chest. She gave a light squeeze to his wrist, and he rolled his shoulders. 

He turned and was faced with the one who escorted him through the hall. 

Jason.

His predecessor, his mentor, the person that took him under his wing and trained him just like Tim will for the next Robin to come.

Jason was everything Tim could have asked for.

They met eyes, and they held them for a moment, one long moment that had others wondering what they were communicating, but no one knew since they could just do that after being partners for 8 years, and Jason’s eyes bore into his-and then the older boy tilted his head, grinned,

“Ya’ ready, Replacement?”

Tim’s chest fluttered, it was coming, and Jason was turning, and when he refaced Tim he was holding a golden cuff.

Tim’s heart stuttered, came to a stop, and Jason’s smile turned soft as he observed Tim’s expression. 

Bruce was saying something, Tim caught the word jello (boy did that bring Tim back), and chuckles scattered the room. He heard a stray snort.

Jay reaches for his arm, and the room quieted as he lightly held his elbow. The cuff clicked open, and Jay winked at him before gently securing it around his bicep. He was pulled into a hug, strong arms enveloping him. Cheers went up in the room, whoops and clapping and the tnng of the tapping on glasses.

He turned towards the people whom he was now a part of, more than a trainee, more than Robin, and gave a turn of his lips. 

He was here.

•

After a minute, things quieted. Hushed conversations floated through the air, and Tim was full of muffled snorts and small smiles from where he was surrounded by Bats. He was always being touched, hair being ruffled (it wasn’t long enough to stay behind his ears, okay?) and arms being flung over his shoulder.

He stiffened when the volume of the room spiked, and then settled to silence. It was like a heavy blanket had been thrown over the hall and it’s people, and Tim forced himself to loosen his muscles. 

Dick squeezed his wrist, and then he was turning back towards the doors and the people and-

Damian al Ghul

The boy strode into the room, graceful and lithe and tiny. The bangles dangling from his wrists clinked, and his eyes were steady on...Tim. Great. 

He had no doubt that this child could totally kick ass. 

Soon, the boy was standing in front of the line of Bats that came before him. 

One could hear a pin drop.

“Damian al Ghul. Son of Talia al Ghul. Direct descendant of the Demon Head and successor to the throne. You have proven yourself extraordinary. You were chosen amongst millions, pulled ahead of the pack with grace and resilience. You were chosen by Nightwing, Black Bat, Red Hood. Your lineage. Your team. You were chosen by The Bat.”

He cocked his head. Damian remained straight faced, chin level. Shoulders back, stances relaxed, eyes blazing. 

“You were chosen by Timothy Drake, now Red Robin. The Robin whom proceeds you, who’s duty it is to train and mentor you. To watch over you. You two are now partners, and you are to keep by his side. You will make an allegiance, as Timothy has with Jason Todd, as Jason has with Cassandra Cain, as Cassandra has with Dick Grayson.”

Bruce glanced his way. 

“Tim. Step forward.”

The man slipped a velvet pouch out of his vest pocket. It was small in his palm, and Tim picked it up before his nimble fingers gently pryed it open. 

Tim faces Damian, and held a black mask. 

“This,” he said, “is for you.”

The younger boy hesitated, if only for a moment. Locked eyes with him.

Tim nodded.

Damian gingerly lifted the mask from Tim’s grasp. He was quiet, staring at the domino.

And then the room erupted.


	8. Oopsies (ii)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This au will not be in chronological order!

Tim was ducking through people, a kid burrowed in his arms.

He broke from Damian when he saw the child shoved into a windowsill, a story up and broken glass shifting beneath his frame. 

He was tiny, maybe five or six, with dark skin and close cropped hair. Christian’s (as was mumbled into his neck) foot was bouncing off his leg with every stride he took, and Tim hoped that his untied sneaker didn’t come off. 

The vigilante had one hand supporting him and the other wrapped protectively around the back of his head, keeping them low. 

“Hood.” 

“Gimme-“ a grunt, “one sec.”

Tim looked down at the kid in his arms, and then at the sea of stuff happening around him. No options.

The goggles on his face blinked as his eyes flicked behind him. A solid green dot, a little 25.4 feet floating beside it. A red flickered in the opposite direction as he heard an oomph from within his ear. His eyes glanced off a 7.5 feet. Blue remained steady to its side.

“Wanna take a piggy back, bud?”

No viable escape routes or any verified safe place, no where to drop a kid. So, the kid comes with. 

He shifts Christian, and his little hands hook around his neck, his legs wrapping around Tim’s waist. Tim gives himself a little bounce, and the kid feels solid. Good.

He turns his head so Christian can hear him. “Squeeze your arms if you feel like your gonna fall, ok? Or if you get hurt-“ he winces internally. This is a rough one, Tim. 

Still, the boy nods, and he singlehandedly shifts his staff out and into half it’s size. Baby bo staff, very less likely to hit the baby on his back. 

Rough, Tim.

He hears a, “Here,” in his ear, and there is Jason, unmoving in the bodies shifting around him, and Dick, much of the same.

He nudges his head, and they knew the drill without any further communication. Get him to Dami, and then pair off again. 

They had a job to protect people, and if that meant getting this one kid through a mosh pit of teens in spandex and adults who are very mentally unstable, he’ll be damned if he lets shit stop him. 

•

After the first time that he slammed his baby metal pole into an asshole’s thick ass scull, he glanced back to see Christian watching him, wide eyes.

“Woah.” He paused, and Tim chuckled, hiking him up on his back. 

“Yes, that’s how we defend ourselves.” He squinted back at the boy, and grinned when he giggled.

He could see the back of Dami’s head, sweaty hair insane. They had the child successfully sandwiched between the two of them. 

Tim’s grin stayed when he ducked a bat, and widened when his com crackled to life. 

“How we doin’, Red Rob” 

A piece of cheese flew at them, and Tim straight up laughed. A small hand snapped up and grabbed it, and Tim’s older brother senses went crazyyy. “Don’t eat that.” He heard a snort from behind him, and threw a glance back at Damian. 

Christian dropped the cheese, and he could hear his older brother chuckling breathlessly over the line. 

Tim flicked on the written word for the glass before his eyes.

“Hood, wanna meet Christian?”

He slipped his com out and handed it back to the little person clinging to his back, and the arm transferred from drooping after the cheese to grabbing at the little black ear piece.

He pulled out another and slipped it back into his ear.

•

A dot before his eyes blinked and continued to stutter. “Steph, come in,” Damian and Tim moved as one, shifting around each other. A voice echoed in their ear, a strained, “I’m fine-shiii”. 

He flicked a look back, and found Damian’s eyes already on him. He squinted, and Dami nodded. “Go. Give me the child. I will assure his safety.” He noticed that his muscles had tightened. “And yours?” Damian’s eyes softened, just a little bit. “I will be fine.” 

The child went from one to another, and they departed. 

•

All that Tim could see were backs and flashes of pavement. 

Tim’s not having it.

Tim had literally been TRampled. 

A punch to the temple, a moment of null and void, and he’s pressed into pavement. His ribs ache within him, and he throbs from where feet dug into his spine, into his bicep, into his calf. He breathed, and got a mouthful of blood soaked hair.

Tim rocked himself to his feet. A hand came up to remove the mass of black from his face, when he felt - holy shit. 

There was nothing on his face except for a domino.

His heart skittered, and he looked, but there was nothing except for a bloody Tim-shaped imprint. He reached for his ear, and - nothing. No sound. Zip. 

Emts weren’t supposed to affect their tech, they solved that years ago, so-

What the fuck? 

The blood was still wet against his Kevlar, most of which was Stephs (he thinks?). 

No bats were being swung, no knives coming his way. 

There were too many people, they were everywhere, and he had to take a second to pause, let himself think, let the world revolve around him. 

In through his nose, out through his mouth.

He had people to find. 

Damian. Dick. Jason. Bart. Kon. The family he’s built. The people who he protects and who protect him.

He starts shoving himself between people, slipping though a mix of kevlar and sweat and noise. He was stumbling over bodies, teetering on the edge of still riding his adrenaline high and slipping into the anxiety that’s bound to start kicking in any minute now. He pushed that down. Not yet. He wasn’t done.

Deep breaths, head up. 

He found a bench, and he thanked God. 

Tim gently nudged a man’s leg with his foot and jumped up. The change in scene was hella jarring.

Now, instead of being faced with chests and midsections, he was looking down at the tops of heads. 

He surveyed the area, shoving a hand through his hair and holding it back. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing... his chest tightened. There.

A black floof of hair, a flash of a face.

Tim was off the bench and shoving through superhero’s before his eyes even had time to actually lock on the man, sending people stumbling and glancing his way and flinching and almost triggering reflexes.

Not like he gave a fuck. 

He was heading in Dick’s generally direction, feet slapping the ground, when he caught a glimpse of navy and yellow. He shoved his shoulder into someone’s back and pushed, didn’t stop as he ran straight into the boy that he’s lived with for eleven years now.

Dick’s back was hard, coiled muscle, but relaxed after seeing the hands that wrapped around and gripped at him. Tim could hear him let out a sigh-chuckle-choked sound, and felt himself being maneuvered as his brother around. 

Fingers ran through his hair, and Tim squeezed him harder when Dick pressed a chase kiss to the top of his head. 

They stayed like that for a long moment, Tim suffocating himself into Dick’s chest and his brother petting his hair and running his hand up and down his back. The younger man couldn’t tell if he was trying to comfort himself or Tim. Either way, he could feel his chest loosening slightly for the first time in hours. 

They parted, and Tim could see that Dick’s hair stuck to his face with sweat and curled at the edges. He had blood smeared on chin, and he looked flushed. Tim took a deep breath, allowed himself one more second and shook out his shoulders. 

One person down. 

He was glad, though, because this person was a very important person. 

Dick’s hand found his shoulder, and he squeezed lightly. He could feel skin, and looked over to see a tare in his suit. Well, tares. 

Damnit. This was his first time wearing this one.

Not the time, Tim.

“Are you disconnected?”

He could feel Dick stiffen. 

“Yeah. I...don’t know.”

Tim’s breath hitched, and he nodded. “We need to find everyone.”

Dick nodded, his eyes leaving Tim and scanning the crowd. He could see his brothers eyes sharpen, shift to analytical, shift to Bat. 

Dick could see over a good amount of people, but it wasn’t the same.

“I have a vantage point.”

He turned, and could feel Dick following him through the crowd with his hand solid on his shoulder. The elder dwarfed him in size, but Tim likes to think he still came close to his level of badass, with his hair everywhere and his bo staff sticking out from behind him. Maybe his torn up suit gave him a rugged, in the throws look. Yeah, he totally beat the shit out of some people. Just look at him.

Tim startled when the hand squeezed, and realized that he had been staring blankly at his bench. 

Yes, it was his bench now. 

The guy was still rods of metal, looking...not well. Tim nudged him, and then thumbed his wrist for a pulse.

There was one. 

He took the liberty to move the man’s legs more, bending them up, and then Dick was stepping into the bench and holding his hand out for Tim. 

Here he was again, picking apart the sea of people, except for now he had Dick, so that was good.

His eyes were moving in a pattern, the same motion over and over again, when they jerked over at Dick’s sharp inhale.

“I found Damian.” 

Tim’s fingers were instantly digging into his brothers bicep. Whoops.

“Where.”

He followed Dick, almost stepping on his heels. 

What they found wasn’t surprising.

Damian was kneeling over the little boy, a circle cleared out of people around them. Which was... both surprising and impressive considering they had to elbow their way through a mass of bodies to get here. Yet... so not surprising considering the person they were dealing with here.

“Robin.”

The boy jolted, and was up and scanning him up and down before Tim could get a look of the boy on the ground. 

“Are you injured? Do you require medical assistance?”

Tim shook his head, and locked his hand around the kid’s bicep. They met eyes, held them for a solid moment. 

Outsiders would say it’s weird. 

Tim yanked him into a hug, which would get anyone who wasn’t a Bat stabbed.

Dick watched on from behind, and gave Dami a wild grin as his eyes slid past Tim.

“And you, Grayson?”

The man declined, and Robin squinted.

Dick looked like he felt he was being picked apart. He recognized the youngest’s look as one of his own, and felt his chest tighten. 

He resisted the urge to ruffle the kid’s messy hat.

Damian reached up and latched onto the wrist gripping his arm, gave it a squeeze. Dick didn’t have to look to know he was also checking Tim’s pulse. He doubted Dami even realized it. 

Tim did though, and gave him a soft smile (bordering on a liittle bit manic).

“The child is well,” he turned, and their attention snapped to the little person sitting criss crossed on the pavement. 

Tim exhaled.

“Christian?”

The little boy gave a small smile and slowly met his gaze. 

Tim nodded, his eyes not leaving the boy but his hand still connected like a tether to his protégé/brother/kinda kid figure. 

...

Tim ran into him in one of the med bays. 

He had been roaming, trying to find out where the fuck Jay was and hoping he was fucking somewhere, when he turned a corner and ran smack dab into someone. 

His reflexes were all over the place at the moment, and his body didn’t know how to respond, so he kinda just bounced off the wall. He blinked, and was faced with cat-eyed glasses, wild hair, and a lab coat.

Fingers latched onto his wrist, and he could feel himself tense as he was yanked down the hallway by this random person.

“Oh thank the... Ok this is good. This is great. We needed you like ten minutes ago, where have you been.” She looked back sharply, her eyes stabbing into his mind. 

“Ummmm.”

He stumbled as she gave him a yank forwards, and the doors slid open to reveal a pastel colored room. And his boyfriend who was currently raising hell. 

“If you fuckin’ put that needle anywhere near me again, Imma rip off your arm and beat’chu with it.”

Tim turned, and, like his brother (why is this not surprising in the slightest), a scattered group of people was circling Jason. Who was wielding an iv stand like Tim’s bow staff and standing on a floor which was covered in pills of assorted varieties. 

He felt a little flash of pride, seeing his brother wield the stand like his staff, but it was also coupled with concern, and relief, and 

And all of those just disappeared as soon as they locked eyes across the room. 

Jason swung the stand down in one fluid motion, and Tim could see one poor girl mumble something unsavory to herself and put her head in her hands. He stepped though the people and over the pills, and soon he had his hand on Tim’s cheek, doing the thing where he rubs his thumb along his cheekbone, and time was gone.

•

Tim’s not surprised they let him leave with Jason, waved his hand and said he’d stitch him up as he eyed the slice on his abdomen briefly. 

He raised an eyebrow at the man who had an arm around his waist, tilting his head up to lean on his shoulder. 

“You really had to do that?”

They turned a corner, their steps in sinc. 

“Dami’s in bed already, I made sure he changed, Dick crashed on the floor again, so I elected to not lug his ass to bed and just throw a blanket on him. I...also made him tea and put it in a thermos next to him, don’t judge me, it’s our thing. Steph is taken care of, I called Cass on my way in, she’s flying down just to check on everybody, B is still with all the big boss people, Agent A is helping in med bay a, ummmm...” he trailed off, his brain skipping. “I think that’s it?” 

The arm tightened around him. “You alright though, Rob? You’re looking a little,” he waved his other hand, “frazzled.” 

He groaned. “I haven’t had time to shower, ok? It’s not like I particularly enjoy it either.” 

Jay raised an eyebrow. “You sure that’ll do the trick?”

Tim threw his hands up. “People literally STepped on me.” Jason’s steps faltered. “Yes. I. Was. Fucking. Trampled.” He splayed an arm. “Do I look like a sidewalk to you?” His feet dragged, and a laugh barked out of the boy beside him. 

“Shut up!” He shoved him, and the elder still laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> no arMs or lEgs iS basIcallY hoW YoU exiSt kEviN yoU DonT do anYthiNG


End file.
